


better letters

by knifechurch



Category: South Park
Genre: ...sort of, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anorexia, Crushes, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Letters, Mutual Pining, Recovery, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, i dont. totally know how to tag this but basically they’re both hurting and they’re both in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifechurch/pseuds/knifechurch
Summary: Kyle looks better, but that certainly doesn’t mean he is better.
Relationships: Kenny McCormick/Kyle Broflovski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	better letters

“It was never about my weight, you know.”

Kenny casts Kyle a sidelong glance, to where he’s sitting next to him in the truck bed. He’s wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt, some band tee, instead of his old sweater vests and khakis, casual and free. He looks  _ better -  _ that’s what Stan said when he returned from the center, tears gathering in his eyes,  _ you look so much better, dude  _ \- and that’s simply the best way to describe it.

Kyle looks healthy, happy,  _ better. _

“Yeah. Had a feeling.”

“Did you?” Kyle’s voice is light, lighter than Kenny’s heard it in months,  _ no,  _ years, throwing his head back and staring at the stars. Kenny feels like the worst person in the world for thinking he’s beautiful.

“No.”

Beat.

The crickets chirp around them - Colorado summer, a lazy June night before senior year. Kyle went to the center late April. 

(But it feels like yesterday. Kenny will never get it out of his head - watching Kyle drop, Stan barely catching him, his shallow breathing, the knobs of his spine through his undershirt, the sharp jut of his collarbones, too frail, too thin.)

“We can talk about it,” Kyle says, suddenly. “Like, I won’t freak out.”

“Wouldn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s more uncomfortable ignoring it. I-I feel like I have to talk about it, or I’m going to go insane.”

Beat.

Now, that makes Kenny feel terrible for not bringing it up sooner, but he supposes he felt like that anyway. All of it was brought to light far too late. Everyone knew  _ something _ was wrong, but Kyle would never be the one to admit it.

“So what was it about, then?”

Kyle rolls his shoulders almost casually, lying back instead of sitting. Kenny curses himself again for thinking he’s so pretty, especially now, with his cheeks full and flushed again, a far cry from the skeletal form of April.

“I needed to control something. You know? I felt so helpless.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine a helpless Kyle Broflovski.”

“Very funny. But, yeah. Helpless. It felt like...somewhere along the line, I had fucked up beyond repair, and lost my grip. I didn’t know where, or when, just that I had to get it back. You know?”

“I know,” Kenny says, because he does. 

“Then, one day, Cartman said  _ I  _ was the one piling on the pounds. And it wasn’t even...I don’t know. I try to never listen to him, I try to never care. Nothing he says ever matters. But I had to prove him wrong.” Kyle laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I had to be the skinniest bitch alive.”

“Don’t call yourself a bitch.” Kenny grunts. 

“Because you don’t like it?” Kyle says, a teasing edge to his voice. Since coming back, he’s had this nonchalant attitude, this playful ring on all of his words - Kenny supposes it should make him happy, but it doesn’t, because it isn’t real. As happy as Kyle has ever been, he has never been this.

“Yeah,” He admits, selfish as it is. “I don’t fuckin’ like it.”

It’s quiet again. Except for those crickets.

“What  _ do _ you like about me?” Kyle says, at last, scooching even closer to Kenny.

“I ain’t doing this with you, Ky,” Kenny sighs, looking away, ignoring the heat radiating off his friend - or at least trying to think of it differently. Normal body heat means normal body.

“Doing what?” Kyle snaps, and Kenny can hear the flush in his cheeks, the furrow of his brow. Tinkerbell, he called him, but the idea of Kyle being tiny kind of makes him want to throw up now.

“This. Whatever it is you’re doing. Why’d you have me drive you out here?”

“I was bored. I wanted to talk to you.”

“And not Stan? Why’s that?”

“You’re my friend, too. Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“It ain’t like that,” Kenny says, and he’s not lying. 

“Then what’s the fucking deal?”

“I’m not your best friend.”

Beat.

They don’t say anything for a long time. Long enough that Kenny wonders if Kyle fell asleep, until he taps Kenny’s shoulder. Kenny turns his head to face him.

His eyes are frighteningly open then, no guards or false joy covering them - a deep sadness seeping into the green. 

“Do you know how much I’m supposed to weigh?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t.”

“A healthy BMI is around 18.5. Anything under that is considered underweight.”

And Kenny doesn’t ask what he  _ did  _ weigh that day. Partially because he has a hunch Kyle’s about to tell him just that, and partially because he isn’t sure he can stomach the answer.

“I was at 82 pounds. An even 16.”

And there it is. And it’s lower than he thought, so much lower,  _ impossibly,  _ no wonder he fucking fainted.

And he really thinks he’s going to throw up.

(They had lunch together - He, Kyle, and Stan. Pizza. They tried to pretend they weren’t watching Kyle, as if he might fling the food away when they weren’t looking. At least he didn’t get a fucking salad.)

“I wanted 80,” Kyle says, his voice nearly breaking, open for the first time since he came home. “And after that, I’d want 75. Sometimes I think I still want it. I miss being hungry, Kenny, how fucked is that?”

“Do you need - ?”

“Going back won’t do anything. If I can’t survive in the real world, what’s the fucking point?” He looks away. “It’s not like I’m not doing anything now. I see therapists, psychiatrists,  _ plural.  _ And  _ dieticians. _ ”

“It’ll take time, Ky.”

“It was mostly girls. At the center, I mean - I figured they’d separate us, but for activities and shit, it was mixed. There were like...two other guys, and they were cis.” He snorts. “I didn’t have a roommate, because there weren’t any other guys, but really, I think they just didn’t know where to put me.”

Kenny doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he’s supposed to. He’s always been a listener.

“Some of them were older. Or even younger. And said they’d be dealing with this shit for years.  _ Years.  _ One of them complimented me on my weight, and I thought, here they are. My goddamn people. But it made me sick. The ones who weren’t trying, they - I don’t know. I just wondered, do  _ I  _ look like them? Do I look worse?”

_ You looked terrible,  _ Kenny thinks.

“And then I got your letter.”

Kenny’s breath hitches.

The letter. The goddamn letter.

It wasn’t as if he forgot about it. He knew, realistically, that it went through, and Kyle probably got it, and might have read it, but neither of them brought it up, so he assumed it didn’t matter. Kyle didn’t care, and that was fine. He didn’t have to.

“Stan wrote every week, so I expected them. Then, there it was. Your letter. Not you writing on Stan’s, no,  _ just  _ you, just Kenny.”

“Figured you didn’t read it.”

“Oh, I read it. I read it, and read it, and read it. It was like - it was like a whole different side of you. A whole new Kenny, just for me. And I don’t know if that’s true, maybe you send love letters to boys in treatment facilities all the time, but I didn’t care.”

“I don’t. Send letters to boys, I mean. You’re the first.”

“It’s an honor,” Kyle laughs, and it makes Kenny’s stomach turn. “I kept it. I could probably recite it back to you, I read it so much. I’d be eating whatever they made me eat and thinking, Kenny thinks I’m  _ enchanting.  _ Who uses words like  _ enchanting _ ?”

“It was late at night, man, I don’t know.”

“No, no, I liked it. I  _ loved _ it. It’s so cheesy, but nobody had  _ ever _ done that before, you know? Nobody had ever called me that. And then, I was like, I can’t die, because Kenny’s in love with me.”

And  _ that  _ hits.

“No, dude, don’t - don’t say that,” Kenny says, and there’s a whine in his voice, but he can’t find it in himself to give a shit about it. “That’s fucked up.”

“Why? It got me through it, didn’t it?”

“No, it didn’t.  _ You  _ got  _ yourself  _ through it. I had nothing to do with it.”

_ It’s _ not even over.

“But you  _ did, _ ” Kyle argues, grabbing up both of Kenny’s hands and clasping them in his. His hands are still so much smaller. “You did, Ken. Anytime I needed a distraction, or a pick me up, it was  _ you, your  _ letter,  _ your  _ words.”

“You can’t get better because you think it’ll make somebody else happy, Ky. You have to get better because you want to be better.”

“Why does it matter what got me there?!”

“Because what  _ got _ you there  _ keeps _ you there! And you deserve to want to eat, and  _ live _ , Kyle! Not ‘cause I have feelings for you, or any bullshit like that!”

Kyle kisses him.

More accurately, he smashes his lips against Kenny’s with a desperation that makes his heart ache. And for a second, a part of his brain lights up in celebration, fireworks and popping champagne bottles,  _ you did it! You kissed Kyle Broflovski!  _ But the rest of his brain still has its sense, and shoves Kyle off him like he’s on fire.

“ _ What? _ ” He spits, and he looks like he’s about to cry, face red, eyes wild, poised like he’s ready to attack. “What’s wrong? What makes me so unattractive now?”

“It’s not that!” Kenny shouts back, hating to raise his voice. Yelling never fixes shit. “You’re  _ sick _ , Kyle! Unwell!”

Kyle scoffs, sitting down more firmly and smacking his thigh to call attention to it. “I weigh what I used to,  _ more,  _ even! What, do I have to get even fatter for you to think I’m hot again?”

“There it is! You look better, Ky, you do, and I’m proud of you. But you have to feel better, too. You said fatter. You think you’re fat now?”

Beat.

“You said it wasn’t about weight, Kyle.”

Beat.

“We can talk about it. We can. But you have to be honest, or there’s no point.”

Beat.

He really hopes Kyle doesn’t start crying. He deserves it, deserves to feel whatever he needs to feel, but he hates to see him cry.

(After Kyle left - Stan said he heard screaming from next door that day, when the Broflovskis went to Denver and Kyle didn’t come back. That’s where it was - where he was supposed to be getting better. Ike told them Kyle yelled, cried, threw things, fought them. Nobody knew what to make of it. Christ, it didn’t even occur to Kenny that it was an eating disorder until somebody else said it.)

Kenny isn’t honestly sure how they got here. He keeps chewing on his lip, thinking that his younger self would be kicking his ass for knocking an opportunity to kiss the boy he’s been so enamored with since elementary school. But it 

wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to kiss Kyle for the first time when he was desperate and hurt and struggling.

“None of us really know what to do right now,” He says, at last. “At least, Stan and I don’t. But I just want you to be happy, Kyle, and I know he does too. Happy because you’re happy, not because I wrote some dumbass letter.”

“It just felt good, Ken. Knowing you felt that strongly about me. It made me feel like there really was something on the other side of all this shit.”

“There is,” Kenny says. “I hate to sound like a goddamn ad, Ky, but there’s so much more than me. There’s fucking...I don’t know, beaches and babies and sunshine...good shit. God. I can’t fucking talk. See why I write?”

“Kiss me.”

“No,” He’s firm on the word, sighing.

“Why not? And don’t say because I’m  _ sick _ .”

“It’s not fair to you, or me. I love you, Kyle, and I wanna kiss you, but I can’t do that until you’re doing better. Everything I said in that letter still holds up, stupid as it was.”

Beat.

“I actually like you. It’s not just that I’m...I don’t know. I like you a lot. As more than a friend.”

Kenny smiles, because months ago, that would’ve been all he ever wanted, for Kyle to like him.

“Cool. If you still feel that way when you’re better, I’ll take you on a date, yeah?”

“You could take me on a date now. This could be a date.”

“This would be a really shitty first date, bro.”

Beat.

“Kenny?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you won’t kiss me.”

“Yeah.”

Kyle scoots closer, silently, and nudges Kenny’s arm. He gets the message pretty quickly, and wraps his arms around the other boy, pulling him to his chest. Kyle sighs in what sounds like relief, his arms coming up under Kenny’s, hands on his back. 

Kenny can’t deny that it feels nice to hold him. Kyle didn’t let anybody touch him if he could help it back then _ ,  _ because touch could lead to disaster, with the knob of his elbow or the sharp angles of his hips.

_ He felt like nothing, dude, _ Stan had said, hands shaking, sitting next to Kenny in the hospital waiting room.  _ Like I could snap him in half. _

But he has weight to him now, feels exactly like you might think holding a teenage boy in your lap would feel, not that Kenny minds. He brings his hand up, threads them between his curls - he had to cut his hair at the center, to keep it manageable, but it’s growing back out now, defying gravity all over again.

“What do you like about me, Kenny?”

“I think I made that pretty clear in the letter.”

“Say it again.” Kyle nudges his face against Kenny’s neck. “Please? For me?”

Kenny sighs. “You’re fuckin’  _ persistent _ , that’s for sure.”

Kyle says nothing. Waiting.

“I like that you’re smart,” Kenny relents, tilting his head back as much as he can. “Really smart. Like, annoyingly smart.”

“Yeah…?”

“Even if you do dumb shit.”

Kyle whaps his back.

“Geez! I was just playin’.”

“Keep talking, dickweed.”

“Fine, your highness. I admire you a lot, y’know? You’re always the first one to stand up for the little guy, ever since we were kids. You’re a really good person.”

“M’not...” He nuzzles his face in further, like he’s embarrassed.

“Yeah, you are. You asked! You are. You’re always putting everybody else before yourself - and I’m not sayin’ that’s always a good thing, you  _ need  _ to take care of yourself, you deserve it, but...you’re good to people.”

“Mmm…” 

And Kenny kinda wanted to stick to things outside of Kyle’s appearance, to how amazingly good he is, to how perfect he feels he is, but the words die on his tongue. There’s no way to describe how or why he loves Kyle, not out loud, and that’s why he said it in writing, with cheesy metaphors about fire and visions of light. God, that fucking letter. 

So, he says, “And I like your hair…”

Kyle snorts, shaking his head. 

“No, really! I love it! And not when you cut it or style it or some shit - don’t say you don’t, everybody fuckin’ knows - when it’s like  _ this,” _ Kenny wraps a curl around his finger to demonstrate, grinning when it springs back the second he lets go. “All wild. And when it’s longer, so just, like,  _ everywhere.  _ It suits you.”

“It suits me,” Kyle says, incredulously.

“It  _ suits  _ you, smartass. You’re like...Whether you like it or not, you’re…” Kenny groans. “God, I can’t fucking find the words.”

“Maybe you could kiss me. To express it.”

“Good God, you’re gonna make that a  _ thing _ , aren’t you?”

“I’m persistent, right?”

“Yeah, that’s one way to say  _ stubborn _ .”

Kyle shrugs, chastely kissing the spot where Kenny’s neck meets his shoulder, and he allows it, for better or for worse.

“What else?” He murmurs.

“I told you, I’m not good on the spot. I already said stupid shit when I had goddamn paper to work with.”

“I liked it,” Kyle insists. “I liked it so much. Slept with it under my pillow. I never knew you were so poetic. I was waiting for you to call my hair winter fire.”

“Compare my writin’ to Stephen King one more time and I’m taking you the fuck home.”

Kyle laughs, and Kenny loves that sound, always has.

“Fine...plenty of shit I like about you, anyhow…” Kenny sighs. “I like when you’re athletic in a  _ healthy _ way. When I can see some goddamn meat on your bones. Y’know, back when you played basketball.”

“Couldn’t do physicals,” Kyle mutters.

“Yeah. Guess you couldn’t.” He clears his throat. “But no, uh...I like how competitive you are. It gets annoying sometimes, but I like that you can be this super smart kid, but you aren’t fuckin’  _ demure  _ or some shit.”

“Mm…”

“I  _ like _ that you’re stubborn. You don’t give up. You’re strong, you know that? So strong. And that’s why I know you’ll get better.”

“Mhm…”

“And, I don’t wanna sound shallow, but you’re beautiful. Like, seriously. I-I meant it, when I said  _ enchanting.  _ It’s like, I love all of those other things, I loved you already when we were little, and then suddenly we were nearly fuckin’ grown and I just looked at you and thought,  _ oh, bonus _ .”

He’s thinking of something else to say, to make it clear that he means it, then realizes Kyle isn’t saying anything at all, breath against his neck, hands brought up between their chests instead.

“You fell asleep,” He realizes, chuckling.

He wraps his arms around him a little tighter. He knows Kyle doesn’t need protecting, or to be taken care of - not usually, anyway. He knows he’ll get through this on his own, because he meant it when he called him strong. 

But it won’t be immediate, and that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve help.

Kenny doesn’t know it now, but Kyle will relapse that coming December. It’ll be Stan and himself who confront him, and he’ll deny it, and kick and cry and scream, but he’ll end up right back where he was, at the Silver Birch Wellness Center, and he’ll stay longer than he did last time. And they’ll visit him that time, and he’ll look tired and be angry and tell them he doesn’t want to see them, but apologize for it the next time they come around. And it’ll still be hard, and after that he’ll still slip into old habits, dividing food into sections on his plate and counting calories, but he’ll get better, he will, and somewhere in all of it, Kenny will take him on more than just one date, and certainly give him more than just one kiss.

But for now, Kyle’s asleep with his head against Kenny’s shoulder, breathing steadily, while the crickets chirp around them. Kenny thinks he should wake him up and take him home, but he’ll let him rest, just for now.

“Sleep, tiger,” He mutters.

And when he wakes up, Kyle will feel a little better.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3 and ty to my friends who beta’d this for me.
> 
> i don’t have an ed myself so i hope i handled the topic as correctly and sensitively as i could, n my heart goes out to anybody recovering, recovered, or on their way.
> 
> you can also find me at knifechvrch on tumblr!


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